by David Bell
“Okay, okay. That’s good. We can talk, Ryan. We can make a plan for finding Blake.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
While I waited for her to arrive, I called Amanda again. The call went right to voice mail. So I sent her a text.
Talking to Sam. Will call soon.
Soon enough, Sam pulled in and parked next to me. She climbed out of her car, her hair whipping a little in the wind and covering her face, and she slid into the passenger seat of mine. She let out a long, breathy sigh as she settled in and pushed her hair off her face, which looked tired and pale, as though she hadn’t slept well. She wore a maroon sweater and formfitting jeans. I checked her hand and still didn’t see an engagement ring.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem a little frazzled.”
“I am. There’s too much going on, Ryan.” She sighed again, adjusting herself in the seat. She flipped down the sun visor and checked her hair in the mirror on the reverse side. “I’m supposed to talk to the caterer and the florist today. About tomorrow, you know. But is it even worth it?” She snapped the visor back into its normal place. “I’m on the ledge here, Ryan. Can you talk me down from it?”
It sounded like an increasingly impossible task. She was planning on getting married in just over twenty-four hours, and her fiancé was nowhere to be found. And he was a suspect in the murder of a woman he’d recently been dating. After I talked her off the ledge, I could maybe part the Red Sea for good measure.
She lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on a loose piece of skin. “Shit.” She pulled the hand away. “I can’t mess up my hands before the wedding. They’re going to take a picture of the rings, which we don’t even have yet. We were supposed to pick them up today. They take those pictures up close. And I need to get a manicure. I’ve already got these ragged-looking nails. I’ve been chewing them again. Ugh.”
“The police do want to talk to you,” I said. “I think you should talk to them. Tell them whatever they want to know.”
“I talked to them already. Last night. They keep asking me the same questions over and over, and I don’t know what else I can say.”
The police were supposed to know how to be delicate. They’d tiptoed between the land mines of marital discord in any number of cases. I was entering the fray without training or experience, so I tried to tread lightly.
“What exactly have the police said to you about Blake? About why they want to talk to him about this woman’s murder?”
Sam stared straight ahead and through the windshield like it was a giant screen. A few shoppers wandered around the lot in the distance. An older man pushing a cart. Two young women in workout clothes laughing and carrying cups of coffee.
Had Sam even heard me? She proved she had by saying, “I’m not an idiot, Ryan.”
“I never said you were.”
“Not in so many words, you didn’t.” She turned to face me. She looked younger than Blake and younger than me. She could still easily pass for a college student despite being the same age as I was. “I know what you all think about Blake and me. That he’s difficult, and I’m naive. That I don’t know what I’m getting into. That we’ll get married, and he’ll just walk all over me.”
“It’s none of my business what goes on—”
“Huh.” She shook her head and looked back out the windshield. Foot traffic was picking up as the morning shoppers came out. “You’re not denying it. You’re just using that dodge. ‘It’s none of my business.’ Well, why isn’t it any of your business, if Blake is your closest friend? If Amanda and I are supposed to be friends?”
“I just mean that what you and Blake work out is between the two of you. No one can intrude on that. And you know, Blake and I haven’t been quite as close—”
She turned to face me again. “And why is that? Why haven’t you guys been as close?”
Rountree had nothing on Sam when it came to conducting an interrogation. She should have flashed a badge and read me my rights.
“We had a baby, Sam. Henry takes a lot of time and energy.”
“And Amanda chewed Blake out. I know that.”
“She’s reconsidering all of that. She was just telling me she needs to look at Blake in a new light.”
“I know. The lampshade-banging thing pissed her off. I get it. The drinking. I’ve always liked Amanda, regardless of how she feels about Blake. She’s right about a lot of what she thinks of him. And I admire her for having a career and then being willing to put it on hold to raise Henry. I want to do that someday. I want to have all of those things. With Blake.”
She presented me with an opening to steer the conversation back to the original matter, so I took it. “That’s why we need to find him,” I said.
But Sam wasn’t ready to move on just yet. “You asked me what the police have told me about Blake and this woman. Jennifer, right?”
“Right.”
“They’ve told me enough. And so has Blake. I know what it means that the police think he might be involved in this murder. I know they dated while we were apart.” She chewed on the piece of skin around her nail again. She seemed to have forgotten about the close-up photo of her hand coming the next day. “He’s not the only one who saw other people. I did too. I’m not a doormat, Ryan. But Blake told me the truth. It was over when we got back together and he proposed. It was over then. For good. Anyone who says anything else is lying. Blake and I understand each other. We do.”
“I understand, Sam. I’m glad you feel that way.”
She stopped chewing on her finger. “He told me other things, Ryan. He told me things about you too. He told me everything about the accident and who was driving that night.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I’d kept the engine running, but the air in the cabin started to feel close and stifling.
I reached with my left hand and pressed a button, lowering the window next to me a few inches, letting in cooling fresh air. Traffic sounds came in, the whooshing of cars, the honking of horns.
“Why did he tell you about that?” I asked.
Sam leaned a little closer. Her hair fell forward across her face again, and she brushed it back. “When we got back together this last time, we wanted to know everything about each other, Ryan. We wanted to have all of that in the open. He told me Amanda doesn’t know the truth about the accident. And I get it. Look at the lampshade thing. Amanda can be unforgiving. Maybe it’s best if she doesn’t know. I can’t say. With what happened to her sister . . .”
I shifted my weight, letting my body fall back against the seat. I sank against the cloth material, felt the light breeze against my face. And it brought a small amount of relief.
“Do you think differently about me, knowing that?” I asked. “Knowing the role I played in the accident? Don’t you look at me in a different way?”
She sounded believable when she said, “We all make mistakes, Ryan. None of us are perfect. You and Blake were there. You were driving, sure. But I love you both. Isn’t it time to move on from that? To not have that grip you so tightly? We all do what we do in the moment, and then we have to live with it. Right?”
She sounded so wise. She made it so simple and clear. But I couldn’t buy it all. Not yet.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It runs counter to who I believe I am.”
“You can think about it,” she said. “You were young and immature. Young men do stupid things all the time. I believe Amanda would understand. It happened in college. Before you even met her. Before you knew about her sister.”
Sam could say all she wanted about how knowing wouldn’t affect Amanda’s view of me, and I worked to get my mind to believe and accept that. Amanda and I loved each other. We knew each other’s strengths and flaws. Very well. We were committed. Wouldn’t she understand anything I could tell her about myself? Especially something that happened when I was twenty-tw
o?
Wouldn’t I understand if I learned she’d done something horrible? Wouldn’t I try?
Then my mind bounced back to something else. Something Rountree had told me back at Blake and Samantha’s house.
“What prompted him to tell you all of this about college?” I asked. “When did he do that?”
“It was just a few weeks ago. Why?”
“He just unburdened himself of this out of the blue? You said you share everything, but you’ve known each other for a while. Why did this just come up recently? That seems random.”
“Well, that article ran in the paper. The Good Samaritan one.” Sam rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek while she thought. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I think I know. I think he ran into someone from college. Someone you guys were friends with back then.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t tell me the guy’s name. I think it was a guy.” She lowered her hand and tapped her fingers against her thigh. “Yeah . . . no . . . a guy? Anyway, it was someone he knew. ‘A blast from the past,’ he called it. Someone you were in that club with. The shield thing.”
“Sigil and Shield.”
“Right. Why didn’t they just call them fraternities? That’s what they called them at UK. Anyway, whoever it was triggered something in Blake, some kind of weird distraction. Since I didn’t go to Ferncroft with you guys, it didn’t matter what his name was.”
“Why did he have his yearbooks out?”
“What yearbooks?”
“At your house today, just now, the detective went in and looked around. She said Blake had his college yearbooks out on his desk. All four of them out, and one open to a page about Sigil and Shield. Why was he doing that?”
Sam shook her head. “I have no idea. I don’t go in his office usually. I knew he had those yearbooks from college, but I didn’t know he ever looked at them. I’ve never seen him doing it.”
“Maybe he was just feeling nostalgic.”
“Could be— Wait. Why was a detective inside our house?” Sam asked. “What was going on?”
“Oh . . .”
I needed to explain that to her, but I didn’t know how. Kyle. The strange man in her house drinking her liquor and looking for Blake.
Crying over Jennifer.
Before I could, my phone rang. Amanda.
Oh, good, I thought. “I have to take this. It’s Amanda.”
When I answered, she didn’t greet me. She spoke in a rush, her voice clipped and panicked.
“You need to come home right now, Ryan. Right now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Sam came with me.
I’m not sure how much of a choice she had. When I heard Amanda’s voice and the panicked edge in it, I ended the call and started driving. Thoughts of letting Sam out of the car so she could go back to her life were secondary. Only after I’d made the first couple of turns did I think about it and turn to her.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to take you back?”
“No, I’m going. I want to know she’s okay.”
We remained mostly silent the rest of the way. I concentrated on the road, my hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles hurt. The sound of rushing air through the window I’d kept open filled the space. Before I hung up and started driving, I’d asked Amanda twice if she was okay, and she just repeated her request.
Her order, really.
Come home. Come home.
Right now.
My mind swirled with possibilities. Henry hurt. Amanda sick. The police returning. Armed with an arrest warrant. Evidence of my presence in Jennifer’s house.
I didn’t care. They could take me away. They could end it all, as long as Amanda and Henry were okay. Unhurt. Safe.
I expected to see a dozen cop cars or crime scene vans when I turned down our street, but everything looked quiet and orderly. As placid and calm as any other day in the neighborhood. Shining houses, the windows reflecting the sunlight. The trash cans put away, the flowers starting to bloom. A place for everything and everything in its place.
I parked behind the house, stopping just outside the garage, and used my key to let myself in the locked back door.
“Amanda. Where are you?”
I heard Sam’s footsteps behind me. She followed me into the kitchen, closing the door. I told her to lock it, to turn the dead bolt in case trouble was coming along in our path.
“Amanda?”
Footsteps on the stairs, squeaking against the wood. Amanda appeared. She was dressed—jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising the Pig. She looked ready for action. Her cheeks flushed, her hair pulled back.
“Thank God, it’s you,” she said.
“Are you okay? Where’s Henry?”
“He’s upstairs. Asleep. Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt? Either of you? Just tell me that. I need to know that.”
“No, we’re not hurt.”
I placed my hands on her biceps, felt her firm, muscular arms beneath the soft material. I looked her over—face, head, everything—searching for signs of injury. For blood, rips in her clothes, or bruises on her skin, but I saw nothing out of order.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure.”
I started for the stairs. “I want to see Henry. I need to see that my son is okay.”
“He’s fine, Ryan. He’s asleep. He slept through everything.”
“Everything? What everything? I want to see him, okay? I want to make sure my son is okay.”
Amanda understood. Any parent would. She nodded, and I started up the stairs. As I went, I heard Amanda and Sam talking, hugging, and commiserating.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I turned right and went into Henry’s room. My eyes ran over the dark blue walls, the jungle wallpaper. A pile of stuffed animals in one corner, the changing table in another. I caught the sweet scent of baby powder I so strongly associated with the space.
I crossed the room and leaned over the crib. He was there, splayed out beneath a blanket. He breathed perfectly. He looked perfect. Fresh and safe and clean and new.
I wanted to pick him up, to clutch him to my chest, but I couldn’t wake him. Better to let him sleep, oblivious to whatever had happened in the house and to Amanda. Oblivious to everything the adults were wrapped up in.
I went back down the stairs, moving more slowly with less frantic energy. Amanda and Sam were still in the kitchen. I heard the sound of water filling the teakettle, their voices sharp and focused. When I came into the room, Sam was listening to Amanda with her hand clutched to her chest.
Amanda placed the kettle on the stove, turned the burner on with a soft whoosh of igniting gas, and turned to me.
“Okay,” she said. “I started telling Sam, but I’ll back up a little so you can hear everything. It started just about half an hour ago.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Amanda leaned back against the counter, the blue flame glowing next to her. Sam and I remained standing, waiting to listen.
“I’d just finished giving Henry his bath. I was about to get him ready to go. To get us both ready to go. I was going to head over to my parents’ house since that’s what you wanted me to do. I thought you were overreacting.” She shivered. “I guess I was wrong.”
“Why did you want her to go over to her parents’?” Sam asked.
“Someone was sneaking around outside the house last night,” I said, not adding that it might have been Blake. “Amanda thought she heard them trying to get in the door.”
“Oh.” Sam’s hand remained at her chest. “Wait. That guy broke into our house today. That’s what you said.”
“I know,” I said, understanding what Sam was thinking. Amanda looked curious about it as well. “I can explain, but I’d rather know what happened here. Go
on. Just tell us the story.”
Amanda nodded. “I’d finished with the bath and dried him off. I got him dressed, and then I was going to pack some things to take with us. Henry was in his seat, vegging out while I packed. And that’s when I heard it. Again. Someone messing with the back door.” She shook her head, her eyes widening with exasperation. “I thought I was nuts, hearing things. Maybe I’d allowed myself to get so worked up that I was imagining someone breaking in. Maybe I’d just been hearing things last night. I was seriously doubting myself. But I decided to check. I knew the door was locked. I’d made sure before I went upstairs. I always do, and especially after last night.”
“Good,” I said.
“So I left Henry upstairs and came down. I thought maybe it was you coming home.” She looked me dead in the eyes, and I wondered if she might have been on the brink of crying. But she held it back and went on. “Or my mom might have come over to help. You know she does that sometimes. And she doesn’t always bother to call, since she forgets to charge her phone.”
The teakettle clicked as the water started to heat, the flame pulsing underneath.
“When I came down here and looked out the door, I saw a man standing there. I didn’t know him. Never seen him before. But he was waving at me, telling me to come over to the door and talk to him. I was scared. Enough weird stuff has been going on around here to freak anybody out. But I thought maybe he was a cop. I don’t know. The chain was on the door, and the lock was bolted. So I went over.” She pointed at the door where the man had stood. “If he was just selling something, I could get rid of him.”
“And you had your phone with you,” Sam said.
Amanda looked sheepish. “Like a dumb ass I left it upstairs. If only six-month-olds could dial nine-one-one. Anyway, I went over and asked what he wanted through the glass. He wanted me to open the door, but I told him I wouldn’t. I didn’t know who he was. He looked pretty irritated, but he told me he was looking for you, Ryan. Or Blake. Either one. When I asked him who he was, he wouldn’t tell me his name, but he said he was a friend, that he knew both of you and needed to talk to you both about everything.”
